Candlekeep
by Avenel
Summary: Following on from their crushing defeat of Melissan, Rain and Kivan return to her childhood home, to put to rest her Bhaalspawn past.
1. Chapter 1

This is a little glimpse into the lives of Rain and Kivan after the fall of Melissan. The usual disclaimers apply, and I own none of the characters save Rain.

CANDLEKEEP – PART I

Rain stood on a small, low promontory staring out over the ocean, gazing across a wide, deep cove to where the rising cliffs of a rugged headland loomed, tapering up from the rocky beach. The sea swelled into the cove in an eager rush, the surging waves dashing against the cliffs. Great spumes of water were thrown up over the rocks. There was a steady breeze, blowing in off the water, and it cooled the otherwise-mild summer day, rustling the long, flaxen tufts of coastal grass that sprouted at Rain's feet. The air was thick with the familiar, tangy scent of brine.

On the headland, perched above the whitecapped water, was Candlekeep. Its massive walls, formed of great blocks of dark-grey stone, were formidable, holding the rest of the world at bay. The iron gates were firmly barred. No pennants flew from the turrets, and the fortress had a sense of desolation, as though it somehow stood out of time.

Rain, though, knew better. It had not been so long in either human or elven years since Sarevok's dopplegangers had overrun the keep, murdering most of the library's residents, but where there was knowledge, there would always be scholars and historians. A new order of monks had custody of the keep now, so Rain had been told.

She frowned faintly, not sure how she was supposed to feel about this homecoming. Though it was not so much a homecoming as a reconciliation of sorts. A retracing of her steps, back to her childhood home before she had learned who and what she was, and stepped up to become the victorious Child of Bhaal that toppled Amelyssan from her stolen throne.

An old pain lanced through Rain now as she looked at the austere keep, and her sorrow flared anew. Gorion no longer walked those halls. Neither did Imoen. Rain's sister had not made this journey, not this time, for she was not ready for this yet. When she did, Imoen would face the denizens of her former home with the fearsome power of an archmage at her fingertips, not as a wayward, impulsive child.

Rain, too, had her own power. Her own might. She was not an unknowing child either. If she had wished it, if she had seized her father's throne, she could have brought the entire world to its knees.

But she had not.

She needed nothing but the man who watched her even now from a short distance away, his gaze intense on her back, spilling love through her heart. She smiled, filled with joy. Through the shared elven Spirit between them, Rain sensed his pleasure in her, his fierce pride and quiet awe. His tender love.

Warmed, Rain turned towards him, her feet barely disturbing the tussocks of grass. Her smile broke beautifully across her lips. She lifted her chin, meeting his black, avid gaze with shining eyes of her own, and looked long at him, holding him in her heart. The dark, magnificent beauty of him made her breath catch in her throat, her pulse quickening.

Kivan was perfect. As perfect as he had ever been. Or perhaps more so, Rain thought, seeing him as she did through bright, adoring eyes. He had more scars now – they both did, since their battle for the Throne of Blood – but Rain had only admiration for the new, faded white lines that glanced across his high brow and down one slanting cheek, cutting through the ink of his old Shilmistan markings, his woodsman's tattoos. He bore these newest scars with the quiet, assured confidence of a man who has faced more desperate trials than most people could ever imagine in their lifetimes, and emerged not only alive, but _free_.

To Kivan, his scars were a source of pride, for he had won them in battling for _her_. There were other terrible marks on his body; long-healed gashes from the vicious wounds that Melissan had dealt him in her savage attempt to utterly destroy him, to destroy Rain. She could just glimpse one of them near the indent of his throat. A thin, puckered welt that slashed from the base of his neck across his collarbone, disappearing beneath the green folds of his forest cloak where he had it pinned back from his shoulders.

Seeing that scar still made the blood freeze in Rain's veins, knowing just how close she had come to losing him.

The painful direction of her thoughts must have shown in her expression. Kivan's eyes softened on her, his own smile gentle and warm. "What are you thinking about, amael?" he asked her huskily, his lilting voice caressing her ears.

She smiled at him again. "You. About how dear to me you are." She cocked her head slightly to one side, turning playful. "And how much I admire the view."

There was, indeed, much to appreciate. Kivan's long sable curls were loose, falling about his shoulders, save for a single, striking braid that kept his hair neatly away from one side of his neck. A new tattoo scrolled down the line of his throat, inked in onyx and spring-green. It was a beautiful, coiling vine, bearing fresh, unfurled leaves. The artwork was unmistakably elvish; the vision was Ellesime's. The queen had chosen the design herself. It evoked lush summer forests and bursts of bright, joyous green; a magnificent honouring of _life_. Kivan had taken that tattoo to honour Rain, to honour all that she meant to him.

Rain's heart swelled with a pure, fierce love. She bore a matching design on her own skin, inked very delicately, exquisitely, from high on one temple, across her brow, and down the side of her face to the sharp slant of her cheekbone. It was a bold move, marking her face, but Ellesime had deemed it an important one. Now Rain was forever branded with spring. Kivan adored it. This tattoo was Rain's first, proudly displaying her elven heritage, and she wore it gracefully, bestowed on her as it had been by Suldanessellar's queen.

Kivan snorted in amusement, interrupting her thoughts, and his dark eyes gleamed at her. "Is that so," he drawled. He folded his arms lazily across his chest and gave her a slow, smouldering glance, blatantly appraising her from head to toe. Rain laughed, her eyes sparkling. A very intense, sweet heat fired in her. "A strange coincidence," he told her in a smooth, smoky tone. "I was just thinking the same thing."

She grinned at him. She shifted her balance from one booted foot to the other, knowing it would emphasise her lean hips in her glossy black leathers, and Rain laughed softly under her breath as Kivan's eyes flared, sparking with desire. She stood there, framed against the sea, and let the salt breeze tug at her hair, blowing the long russet strands against her ebony leathers. "Were you admiring me or Candlekeep?" she asked innocently.

"Hmm?" Distracted, he lifted his eyes to her face again. He arched a jet brow. "Well, let me see," he mused, pretending to think about it. "Would I rather look at that miserable fortress, all man-made stone, or would I rather look at you, the most beautiful, captivating woman in all the world?"

Her smile widened, dancing on her lips. "Me?" she asked hopefully.

Kivan threw back his head and laughed. "Yes, you," he agreed, delighted. He uncrossed his arms and invited her to him with outstretched hands, an infectious smile lifting the corners of his firm mouth. "Come here, storm wind," he ordered her.

She was hardly going to refuse him. Smiling at him brightly, Rain took light, glad steps across the sere grass between them, avoiding their heavy packs on the ground, and came into his arms, sighing contentedly as he embraced her fiercely. Rain leaned into him, taking comfort in his familiar wiry strength. She tucked her head beneath his chin. Turning her face into his neck, she pressed her lips to his sun-warmed skin, breathing in the faint scent of his musk. His dark hair brushed against her face, softly.

Kivan went rigid. His breathing quickened, rapid and erratic, and he slowly bent his head to her graceful ear. He nipped at it lightly. "Kiss me, _Rosa_," he whispered, compelling her.

She did.

Tilting her head back, Rain looked deeply into his hungry eyes, and cupped the angular planes of his beloved face, lifting her mouth to his. Their lips met; his mouth burned on hers. She felt the eager heat in his lips and tongue. She kissed him thoroughly, tasting him at leisure, and Kivan murmured his satisfaction into her mouth. His calloused fingers stroked her hair, jerky with want. Finally, he eased back from her a little, rueful apology in the light kiss he pressed to her brow.

"Forgive me, amael," he murmured regretfully. "I am distracting you from our true purpose here."

Rain smiled up at him, not at all displeased. She reached up and gently toyed with the sprig of red summer berries that she had tucked into the end of his dark braid only this morning, through the thin, leather thong that tied off his hair. In her opinion, the berries went rather nicely with his stunning green-and-black tattoo.

"I like your distractions," she whispered, kissing the angle of his jaw.

Kivan swallowed tightly and planted a fond kiss on the tip of her nose. "And I like yours," he assured her.

Together, they turned once more to regard the library stronghold on the headland, assessing its fortifications, its strengths. Kivan lifted an arm and wrapped it securely around her shoulders, drawing her into his steady embrace.

Rain sobered again, her earlier gravity settling upon her. She looked long at Candlekeep. The place was now a tomb, a mausoleum for all those poor, murdered souls who had fallen within its walls. Within _and_ without, she amended, thinking sadly of Gorion. She wondered how these new monks would react to her powerful, chaotic presence. How they would see _her_: Rain, once of Candlekeep.

She frowned thoughtfully. "What if they try to bar my way?" she finally asked, voicing her thoughts aloud. "What then?"

Kivan looked at her calmly. "Then you will do as you please, my fearsome tempest, and the foolish monks will bow before your wrath." He let out a low, unamused laugh. "They owe you, Rain," he said in a hard, implacable tone. "They _owe_ you. Were it not for you, Melissan would have won and this land would be a bloody, smoking ruin." His lip curled. "The great library would be laid to waste. Just like Saradush," he added more softly. "They owe you," he said again, and now his voice was tender. "Hold your head high and remember just what the Solar offered you, and how close you came to rising to the very stars above." He smiled at her, gently, and it reflected his pride.

Rain heard the truth in his words, and nodded soberly. "I knew there was a reason why I love you so much," she said softly, thanking him. She lifted a hand to lightly caress his face with her fingertips.

He squeezed her shoulder affectionately through her leathers. "And I love you, Rain," he said very seriously, heartfelt.

They prepared to leave, hefting their packs. Rain watched as Kivan pulled his mighty longbow – the famed Taralash – over his head, and settled it on his shoulder. He reached for her hand then, but suddenly paused, his fingers stilling where they laced with hers.

A strange expression flitted across his face. Shadows rose, flickering behind his unfocused eyes, and Rain looked at him sharply in concern. Then Kivan gave his head a short, abrupt shake, tossing about his curls, and forcibly dispelled his ghosts.

"The last time I was here," he said quietly, "I was still married to death." His eyes found hers, locking with them. "But no longer," he said softly. "No longer." Gripping her hand tightly, he pulled her closer to him, into the heat of his body. "Now I have you, my heart, and all is well with me once again."

xxxx xxxx

Purposefully, her face set in solemn, resolute lines, Rain strode up the wide road of crushed white stone that led across the headland to the keep's great gates, her boots crunching softly on the rock. So many times she had looked down upon this path from the gatehouse roof or the turrets, with the wistful eyes of a young elf wishing to escape the cloistered library, and now here she was returning, changed and grown. She would not be dissuaded from her goal. By her side, matching his longer strides to hers, Kivan was as single-minded in his intentions as Rain was, his step firm, determined and proud. He carried himself with that deadly grace he had, his hunter's litheness.

Atop the gatehouse, a guardsman in a steel helm and chainmail shifted position, leaning over the battlements between the crenellations to take a long, hard look at them, doubtlessly wondering why a pair of very-well armed elves were approaching the library. Neither Rain nor Kivan looked like they would have any business with the monks. Rain was _quite_ sure that no female scholars or historians within the keep would be wearing her striking ensemble of ebony leathers, her fearsome swords. She wielded Foebane and the blazing Angurvadal now, the blade shimmering with the liquid mercury that had been poured into its steel heart. Rain still had a special fondness for the Equalizer and Celestial Fury, but both blades were in Suldanessellar, where she had left them to make this journey.

Kivan, too, was an arresting sight, with his longbow and quiver, bristling with arrows, and his dagger and hunting knife. He would hardly blend in amongst the hundreds of scrolls, parchments and tomes filling the library's shelves. He bore Gram, the Sword of Grief now, which he found ironic, and it was buckled in place at his narrow waist. His ragged cloak gave him a wild and uncivilised look – it was the same threadbare, tattered thing that he had worn ever since Rain had met him, making a game of trying to wear it until it fell from his shoulders in unravelling, frayed pieces. Her needle and thread could barely keep up with the patchwork. His sylvan markings and the red berries in his braid only added to his feyness, to his strangeness.

Though he was not at all strange to _her_. He was beautiful.

Rain suppressed a grim smile as the sentry called out a challenge. "You there!" he cried in a ringing voice. "Halt and state your business. Who are you?" Two other guards, a man and woman, appeared behind him, holding loaded crossbows.

She calmly stopped in the middle of the road, inside the long shadow cast by the walls, and met the soldier's stern eyes with a formidable look of her own. "I am Rain of Candlekeep," she said in a clear, uncompromising tone. "This is Kivan of Shilmista. You will have heard of us, I am sure. We are here to take one last look at the library where I was raised by my foster-father, Gorion. He was a revered sage, and he contributed much to the keep. I intend only to walk the halls of my childhood home, and say my farewells. Then we will go."

The sentry started in surprise. "You are Rain? _That_ Rain? The Bhaalspawn?"

Beside her, Kivan tensed, his eyes narrowing dangerously on the guardsman. Rain let out a short, ironic laugh, not quite bitter. "I am one of two living daughters of Bhaal," she corrected him mildly. "But yes, I am that Rain."

"I see." The guard frowned at her, clearly not sure what to make of her. He shifted his uncertain glance to Kivan. "Wait where you are," he ordered, and withdrew from the battlements. Rain heard the soft clinking of his chainmail as he crossed the roof to the stairs, the ones that ran down the wall of the gatehouse into the outer bailey.

Kivan looked down at her and stepped closer to her, brushing his shoulder against hers. "Well done, amael," he said very softly.

They did not have long to wait. The side door to the gatehouse opened, swinging out into the enclosed space in the fortress' entry between the guard-house and the crenellated tower on the far side of the gate. The sentry reappeared with his captain, an older man with lines of care worn into his brow. The new Keeper of the Portal strode up to the gates and examined Rain and Kivan intently through the bars.

Interestingly, Rain sensed no hostility from him. Just a simple curiosity as he regarded her closely.

He gestured to them to step closer to the gates. "So you are Rain," he remarked neutrally as she and Kivan drew up before the bars. "I wondered if you would ever turn up. You are a long way from Tethyr, where the Bhaalspawn wars supposedly ended." He glanced at the beautiful inkings on her brow and cheek, and shifted his eyes to Kivan, eyeing his matching tattoo. "The rumours are that you are wanted in Tethyr for murder," he noted, switching his keen gaze back to Rain. "The rumours are that you caused the fall of Saradush."

Kivan bristled angrily, his jet eyes taking on a fierce gleam. "The rumours are false," he growled. "Rain tried to save Saradush, not cause its downfall. That should be known even here, by now."

The Keeper regarded him steadily, then looked at Rain again. "Do you have a tome of value to offer the library?"

"No." Rain lifted her chin pointedly, her gaze level but hard. "Nor do I need one. I am not here to study the knowledge contained in the library's scrolls. I am only here for a short visit, an hour or two at most. That is all."

"As you say." The man gazed at her a moment longer, trying to read her intentions, and made his decision. "I will take your request to the head of the order." He departed with a brisk stride, leaving the guardsman behind to keep an eye on them through the bars.

Kivan sighed, more than a little wearily, and took Rain's hand again. He led her to the keep's outer walls, beneath the battlements, and settled his pack and longbow back against the shadowed stone, leaning his body on the wall. He braced his feet slightly apart and slipped his arms around Rain's neck, holding her close. "I am growing very tired of hearing your name linked with Saradush," he murmured against her brow, his lips moving gently on her skin.

"So am I," she agreed, and there was resignation in her tone. "At least you know the truth, beloved."

"That I do." He was quiet a moment, musing over something, and he absently feathered soft, sweet kisses over her temples. Rain closed her eyes and rested against him. "If the monks try to refuse us entry," he said at last, thoughtfully, "I will simply find the hidden entrance to the catacombs, the one that emerges on the cliffs. You will have your time inside the keep, my love, even if we have to slip past the monks."

Rain smiled, her heart warming. "My dear ranger," she said fondly, and lifted her mouth for his hard, demanding kiss.

This time, they were forced to wait much longer for the captain's return, and Kivan found a very teasing, inventive way to pass the long minutes, brushing kisses over Rain's lips and cheeks, down her throat. He was not at all concerned about the two guards with the crossbows standing high on the roof above them.

"Let them have something to talk about," he said wickedly into her ear, making Rain grin back at him. They shared an amused, conspiratorial glance. In her younger years, Rain had never imagined that one day, she would be kissing her man so passionately right in the shadow of Candlekeep, openly displaying her affection to the rapt gawking of the guards. She smiled impishly; the thought gave her a certain rebellious satisfaction.

Imoen would approve, she knew.

What Gorion would think was another matter entirely. Rain knew the aged sage who had raised her would be overjoyed for her and Kivan, but she doubted her foster-father would be comfortable seeing them embracing so heatedly, so intensely. Still, Rain drank in Kivan's playful kisses, unfazed, enjoying his game.

Finally, Rain heard the captain's march on the crushed rock in the bailey. She and Kivan untangled themselves, breaking apart, and he steadied her with a warm, reassuring smile. They turned back to the fortress gates, alert.

The Keeper of the Portal commanded his guardsman to drop the heavy bar that sat in its brackets behind the paired gates. He watched as the sentry slid out the bar, grunting a little from the effort, and pulled a large copper ring of keys from his belt. The captain fitted a long saw-toothed key to the gate's massive iron lock, and turned it.

"You have been granted admittance," he told them both, pushing open one side of the mighty gate. "The prelate wishes to see you."

Rain inclined her head to him gracefully, intrigued. "Thank you."


	2. Part II

CANDLEKEEP – PART II

Stepping through Candlekeep's gates, passing both the new Keeper of the Portal and the watching sentry, brought Kivan a sharp, stark reminder of just what Rain had faced the last time she had returned to her childhood home: the cold, unfriendly reception she had received from many of the library's inhabitants, and the strange, almost…_off_ attitude of the people towards her, folk that she had mistakenly believed she had grown up with. Then there had been her foster-father's letter to her, and the truth of her dark birth, revealed at last.

Now, Kivan was no less wary, mistrusting the motives this prelate might have to acquiesce so readily to Rain's request to walk the halls of her former home. It did not sit well with him. Rain, too, was uneasy; he felt her own caution in the familiar sense of her that came to him through the Spirit, and he saw it in her guarded expression, for she was unable to lower her defences and simply give over to her sorrow, not even here, in this place so familiar to her. Or perhaps, _especially_ not here. Too much blood had been spilt in the grounds of the lauded library. Many innocent lives lost, all for the sake of Sarevok's doomed war for the Sword Coast, his fruitless attempts to rise above his sisters and brothers.

It made him more worried, wondering what awaited Rain this time.

Perhaps he was being too suspicious. Perhaps there was no snare, this time. No trap or hidden catch. But he doubted it. His need to protect Rain, his beloved, beat as fiercely in his heart and blood as it ever had, and it did not matter that, between them, they commanded more power than these guards on the walls and in the turrets could ever imagine, ever comprehend. Kivan trusted in his instincts; he remained sharp-eyed and vigilant, ready to defend her.

Rain, he realised in the next moment, shared his misgivings.

"This seems too easy," she murmured, her soft words for his ears alone. They moved together more closely on the path of white stone, taking them out into the midst of the outer bailey. The wide sward stretched either side of them, the short grass a deep emerald in the dense shadow cast by the keep's high, inner curtain wall. "There will be a price to pay, I am sure," she continued in that same quiet tone. She was not bitter about it, just matter-of-fact. "These monks will prize knowledge above all else, just as Ulraunt and the others did. This prelate will want something from me, I am certain."

Kivan nodded soberly. "I suspect the same, amael. Keep on guard here, but do not let it prevent you from doing what you came here to do. It is your right to be here, to say your farewells. It was your foster-father who fell while trying to protect you, and it was your friends who were slain. Do not feel rushed in your time here, regardless of what these monks might want of you."

Rain stopped and looked up at him, her face tilted to his. Her eyes, dark as the sea, were very serious. "You always know the right thing to say to me," she said, and her voice was tender. "The right thing to bring me back to the important things, to what really matters." She smiled at him, softly, and lifted a hand to his shoulder, gently adjusting the fall of his cloak where it draped back from his neck.

His lips twisted ruefully, but his heart was warmed. "I am not so good with words as you make me out to be," he observed, a little wryly, but Rain shook her head.

"You are, beloved," she said, and she was as serious as before.

He gave in then, and his smile for her was glad and unfettered, his eyes revealing his love and his pleasure. He bent his head and kissed her brow, where the delicate spring vine weaved across her temple, flourishing its very-fine, dainty green leaves. "Vanima," he whispered reverently, and then drew back.

Together, they turned to face the grand archway ahead of them, the entrance in the grey stone wall that led to the library's inner courtyard. The pale path continued beyond it, ending at the edge of a paved garden, the cobblestones set in concentric circles, spiralling across the yard. It was neat, orderly. A very human way of trying to control the contained space around them. The gardens were tidy, the bright flowers perfectly aligned in their beds, and the fountains splashed cool water, the sea-breeze carrying the fine droplets far from their marble rims.

The library fortress presided over it all. It had its own rigid splendour, Kivan was forced to admit, and the keep's many towers and pointed spires, reaching for the azure sky, were impressive. One could easily imagine the shapes of tall, tapering candles in the library's design. Above the stone lintel of the keep's main door, there were rows of narrow windows, marking each floor. Vague, indistinct shadows moved behind some of the frosted, bubbled glass; people, looking intently through the opaque panels, down upon the bailey.

Kivan's eyes narrowed on them. "We are being observed," he said in a low, leashed voice.

Rain nodded, her gaze following his. She sighed then, and dropped her eyes back to the courtyard, to where scholars in long robes wandered in quiet reflection, or read leather-bound tomes and unfurled scrolls, pondering their writings.

"It is so strange," she said after a time, an almost haunted note in her voice. "It feels the same, seeing how life just goes on for them, as it once did here, but the faces are different, and everyone I knew are long gone." She was pained, saddened. Her grief rose through the sudden cracks in her composure. "Do they even know what passed here? Do they even think of the bloodbath that drowned these halls, that took the lives of so many decent people?" Her voice hardened, taking on a brittle edge. "They care not for Gorion and Winthrop, and the good folk I knew. They know nothing of the people who came before them, who were so brutally murdered. Their shades walk here now; restless ghosts. Were it not for their deaths, these new monks wouldn't even be here to guard these books, to hold Candlekeep in their care."

Rain's bitterness was very unusual for her. It did not come naturally to her, that cynicism, despite the cruel ordeals of her life, and Kivan glanced down at her in concern. In gentle understanding, he reached around her pack and settled his hand on her shoulder, letting her know he was there. There was still a hint of the sun's warmth in her black leather vest, despite the shadows falling across the path. Rain stirred then, shaking off her dark reflections, and she looked up at him in grave apology.

"I am sorry," she said quietly. "That was unfair of me, wasn't it. It is not their fault that life continues. I am the one who remembers, and I am the one still burdened by the loss of my foster-father, and all these ghosts. And my own responsibility in it," she added more grimly, a shadow that he recognised darkening her eyes again.

That was a sentiment that Kivan understood intimately, but Rain was being too hard on herself. "You do not need to apologise to me, amael," he said gently. "We both remember what happened here. And you had no part in their deaths, Rain. Do not forget that." For emphasis, he briefly tightened his fingers in her shoulder, assuring her of his faith in her, his staunch support. "Come, love," he said then. "Let us go and pay our respects to the dead."

xxxx xxxx

Rain lifted her chin a little, squared her shoulders, and then firmed her expression, taking on her look of determined resolve that Kivan knew so well. When she stepped out with him, the two of them striding for the archway, she seemed to take possession of the path before her, walking past the pair of guardsmen on duty at the entrance to the courtyard without even glancing at them. The soldiers, Kivan noted, knew very well who she was; their eyes were riveted on her sleek ebony frame, decorated only by her paired swords in their crimson sheaths, and the loose fall of her sunset hair, cascading down her back past her leather pack. Word had obviously spread of their arrival. At the awed, bemused glances the guards were unable to fully conceal, Kivan felt a jolt of fierce satisfaction. He suppressed a feral smile.

_Let them look. Let them see how magnificent she is. Let them know just what a powerful force to contend with she is._

In the courtyard, he padded alongside her, his feet silent on the cobblestones. He held himself with quiet self-possession. He was aware of the startled stares of the scholars, and the murmurs and speculation that rose in their wake, and he did not care at all that his ragged cloak was being remarked upon, and the red berries in his braid. It did not ruffle him at all. He was what he was: woodswalker, warrior and hunter. Everything that Rain needed.

She, too, ignored the library's visitors and monks, but one thing did make her pause, slowing her steps. She glanced over at one of the fountains, looking beyond it. Kivan followed her gaze, pausing beside her.

A small, fair head could be glimpsed peeking above the rectangular marble rim. A moment later, a little human girl stood up, hefting a rather large, striped ginger cat in her spindly arms. The furry animal seemed much too heavy for her to manage. The little girl didn't seem to mind, though. She spoke to the cat in a fond but admonishing tone, and the cat wriggled, trying to squirm out of her grip. In the next instant, the cat was trotting away through a garden bed, its tail held straight, proud and high, and the small child was chasing after it, telling the fleeing creature how naughty it was.

Rain let out a delighted, amused laugh. She turned to Kivan then, and his heart leaped at the renewed sparkle in her blue eyes, the dark cloud that had overcome her earlier dispersing. "Perhaps it is good to see life go on after all," she said with a smile, and Kivan grinned at her in answer. He took her hand as they began to walk again, heading for the polished marble steps leading up to the library.

"So, did you and Imoen ever torment the poor cats of the keep?" he teased her in a low voice, mischief in his eyes.

"Torment? Never." Rain tossed her head. "We may have…played with them, frequently, and followed them into the stables and cellars, but we always behaved very nicely." Her next smile held its own sly mischief. "We saved our torments for the monks. And Ulraunt. And Winthrop. And the guards."

Kivan snickered, very amused. He liked the idea of a young Rain and unruly Imoen menacing the inhabitants of the keep. "I am sure you did," he said dryly, wondering just what trouble the pair of them had caused between them.

Rain's smile slowly faded, though her mood was lightened. She gently squeezed his hand with her fingers. She knew exactly what he was about, trying to distract her from her sorrow by thinking of happier times. "Thank you," she said softly.

He smiled at her gently in answer.

They stepped up onto the wide marble platform before the library's doors, then, and strode forward, Rain sweeping towards the next pair of guards without hesitation, like the unstoppable storm wind that she was. They gave way before her. Realising she was not about to wait for them, one of them took a swift but awkward step backwards and turned, opening up one half of the paired wooden doors for her entry. The threshold loomed. Kivan slowed a little to let Rain precede him, and then he followed her into the dim stone foyer, the door closing behind him again to shut out the thick salt air. His keen eyes adjusted easily to the low light levels; his black irises widened, drinking in the candlelight.

The library was just as he remembered.

Heavy stone walls and a muffled hush, the grey carpet dampening the steps of the library's visitors. Though for now, only he and Rain were in the foyer, and the nearest of the brown-robed monks was some distance away, on the far side of the library's grand open chamber. Two tall iron candelabras lit the entrance to the carpeted stairs. Rows upon rows of shelves crowded the main chamber, stacked full of books, and a score of oil lamps glowed in special stone recesses set into the walls, the yellow flames kept far from the precious tomes. In the foyer itself, marble statues of Alaundo's likeness reigned, the ancient scholar welcoming all seekers-of-knowledge to his famed library.

Kivan glanced at one of the statues and was reminded of the sage's prophecy, the one foretelling of Rain, Gorion's ward. He wondered what Alaundo would think of her now.

Rain's thoughts must have been following the same path as his, for she, too, gazed long at the statues, and her expression was musing. But she said nothing of Alaundo. Instead, she slipped her hand behind his elbow and linked her arm with his, and wandered slowly with him into the vast chamber, taking her time as she looked upon her old home again.

"Everything is so familiar," she said with quiet reverence. Her eyes were wistful, full of sad nostalgia. "The books, the candlelit alcoves… The smell of parchment and leather bindings. Even the beeswax they use to polish the desks and tables. It is the same."

Those scents certainly carried, and the burning lamps gave off a clean, faintly-sweet aroma, but underneath it, the air was dense and dry. Stale. It made Kivan long for the fresh air of the courtyard, to be away from these confining walls. He made no complaint, however. He simply strolled with Rain through the library, content with the satisfaction that her homecoming brought her, though her memories were bittersweet. She fell silent, and they stopped together in the midst of the chamber, surrounded by books and lamps. The monk disappeared into a study alcove. Rain gazed about herself, her eyes solemn. Then she sighed and leaned her head on his shoulder, and the warm scent of her hair tantalised his senses, making him forget all about the mustiness of the library.

He looked about with her, and his own memories of this place rose, one of them clear and sharp and rippled through with unexpected laughter. He grinned suddenly, his eyes gleaming with mirth.

"Do you remember the two old scholars who accosted you last time?" he asked her, his smile widening. "What were their names again?" He knew full well, for the utter hilarity of that _very enlightening_ encounter was imprinted vividly on his mind, but Kivan wanted to see Rain laugh, to draw her out of her melancholic silence.

She groaned and hid her suddenly-pink cheeks in his arm. "I _knew _you were going to bring that up," she told him, her muffled voice chagrined, but he felt her spike of mirth through the Spirit. She lifted her head and gave him an amused, embarrassed grin. "Theodon and Jessup," she said with a laugh. "I couldn't _believe_ how much they humiliated me. I was very sincerely regretting walking through that front door," she said, flickering her eyes briefly towards the foyer. "I was so mortified, I just wanted to crawl beneath the staircase and hide."

Kivan laughed with bright, keen humour. "I _thought_ I saw you sidling towards it," he said with a sly grin, wrapping his arm around her shoulders to prevent any escape. "Hmm, what was their very descriptive account of you again? Running around the keep in the buff, naked as a jaybird? Stealing Khelben Blackstaff's cloak and tying it around your waist?"

Rain flushed even pinker, but her eyes gleamed with both the candlelight and her own humour. "At least they didn't actually have the portrait with them," she said dryly.

"What, the one of you on the bearskin rug, in the buff?" Kivan flashed a wicked smile at her. "It is probably just as well, or Coran and Xan would have been in raptures. As it was, we all had a rather…inspiring vision of you. It was most…distracting."

She laughed again, more quietly this time, and her face sobered. She looked up at him and lightly cupped the sharp plane of his cheek in her palm. "Even for you?" she asked softly, a hint of shy hesitation about her. But she held his eyes steadily, awaiting his answer.

"Even for me," he admitted with absolute honesty, and then smiled at her.

Rain relaxed and smiled back at him, her eyes warm and tender. She stroked her fingertips down the side of his face. "You have helped me again," she said evenly. "Of everyone in the keep that day, I at least know that Jessup and Theodon were themselves, not...replaced. They were genuine in their fondness for me. That is something I can take away from here, and remember when my thoughts start to drift back to the other, terrible things." She lifted herself on her toes and brushed her soft lips over his. "You are good for me," she whispered, and Kivan felt exactly the same way about her.

xxxx xxxx

They walked the rest of Candlekeep's great library, Rain settling into a deep silence once more, saying her quiet farewells to her ghosts. Kivan did not disturb her with unnecessary talk. She seemed distracted, lost in her thoughts whenever she found a familiar, lamp-lit alcove, or picked up a dusty, ancient tome that she had read as a girl, but she was always aware of him, and they moved in harmony together, past the many shelves.

It was on the second floor that they came across the first of their watchers. Three monks, garbed in their cassocks, stared at Rain with blatant, unconcealed interest. They sized her up from beneath their cowls, looking at her as though she was something volatile and destructive; a lethal, but inexplicably-compelling creature that stalked the halls of _their_ library. From the wary set of their stances, the monks feared that, at any moment, Rain might snap her fingers and set fire to every book on the floor. Which she very well could, if she wanted to. She kept walking, saying nothing, and the monks' gazes slid to Kivan, taking his measure.

He looked one of them directly in the eye, hard and unforgiving. He sent a very clear message.

_Leave her be_.

The monk swallowed uneasily and made no move to follow himself and Rain up the next set of stairs.

On the fourth level, where the library's residents had their small, staid chambers within the keep, Rain paused outside the door to her old room, alongside her foster-father's, but did not linger. She gave Kivan a small, sad smile as they continued on their way, in the direction of Ulraunt's former study.

"I do not think they would have kept anything of mine," she murmured, "and my room is likely taken by now." Her eyes darkened. "And Gorion's, too," she added softly.

Kivan nodded quietly, understanding her reluctance to disturb the keep's new occupants. He looked ahead to where the Keeper of the Tomes had once held office. The door was opened wide, and a tall figure, robed in blue, stood with his back to the hearth blazing within the chamber behind him, the firelight flickering over the man's shorn head. Gathered outside the prelate's receiving room were many more of the monks, waiting with a still, sober patience for Rain's arrival.

It had the feel of a reckoning. No, not a reckoning, Kivan silently amended as he looked at the hooded monks, but an important occasion. An event of grave historical significance. He slanted a look at Rain, and he saw the steely purpose in her eyes, in her proud carriage. She was preparing herself for a battle of wills. Together, they approached the study with brisk, fluid efficiency, and the monks parted before them, stepping back silently to let them pass.

Kivan and Rain reached the doorway, and entered without ceremony.

The prelate watched them come. He stood motionless and regal behind his large, ornate desk, his hands folded calmly within the sleeves of his robes. He was not young, perhaps approaching middle age for a human, but there was a liveliness in his sharp hazel eyes that gave Kivan fair warning: this was a man of fierce intellect, and right now, his voracious interest was directed squarely at Rain. Kivan tensed, the corded muscles of his arms bunching.

"Ah," the man said, staring openly and unabashedly at Rain's lovely, sharp face. "You are Rain, Gorion's ward. The woman I have heard so much about." He swivelled his avid gaze to Kivan, marking his tattoos. "And you, Kivan of Shilmista. Yes, I know your tale. I know what befell your late wife."

At that, Kivan nearly snarled, his lips pulling back from his teeth as a quick burst of anger went through him. The callous, unfeeling way that this scholar, this _historian_, spoke so casually of Deheriana's fate, as though she was a mere footnote in some greater text, made him more furious than he could suddenly contain. His wife had never been a footnote to _him_. The prelate, however, had already moved on, unaware of the strong reaction that he had provoked in him.

"Sit, please," the head of the order said, revealing a pale, ink-stained hand to gesture at the pair of green-upholstered chairs drawn up before the desk. Another figure waited in the firelit shadows in a corner of the room; a robed monk, holding a writing tablet in his clasped hands, standing behind a smaller table set to one side of the hearth. A scribe, Kivan presumed. "I am Aldith," the prelate continued. "Take your ease, please. Your journey has been a long one indeed, Rain." He flickered his hand towards the open doorway, sharply and with command, and one of his monks closed the heavy door, trapping them within.

Rain was very still, unmoving. She stared directly ahead at the prelate, matching him glance for even glance, but Kivan knew that the intuitive part of her was focused on him, aware of the impact of the man's careless words. He sensed her hesitation. Quietly, knowing that she must not be divided in herself, that she shouldn't also need to worry for him, Kivan lightly rested his hand on her shoulder, telling her without words that he was well. _I am fine, love. Continue_.

The tension in her shoulder ebbed a little, but she remained on guard. "Thank you," she said to the prelate. Gracefully, she slipped off her pack and set it on the floor, and seated herself with elegant poise on the edge of her chair, allowing for her long scabbards. She folded her hands neatly in her lap.

At her acceptance, both Aldith and the scribe took their seats also, but Kivan remained standing, taking up a protective position at Rain's back. For now, he was unwilling to concede the higher ground. Aldith arched a dark brow at him, and Kivan looked back impassively, his expression devoid of all emotion. He rested his hand on the wooden back of Rain's chair.

"So," the prelate said, turning his attention to Rain again, "you have returned to your former home. May I ask why you have come?"

Rain regarded him steadily. Though she was calm, composed, Kivan could sense her coiled, taut power. There was a sudden tension in the room; an imperceptible _tightening_, as though the conversation hung finely balanced on the keen edge of a knife.

"Did your gatekeeper not tell you?" she enquired politely, raising one delicate red brow. From where Kivan was standing, slightly to one side of her chair, he could see the slant of her face, her beautiful tattoo twining down her temple and cheek. "I am here to say my farewells to the people who once lived here, who were slaughtered when Sarevok Anchev's dopplegangers infiltrated the keep." Her expression was grave, her body light and motionless in her chair. "Many good people, folk I knew well, died here in horrific circumstances. My foster-father, too, was murdered not far from Candlekeep's walls. I have mourned them all, and I honour the dead, but I have not been able to come back until now, to pay my final respects." The last of her words were said more quietly, lending a solemn emphasis to this meeting.

Aldith contemplated her soberly. "A noble sentiment," he said after a small pause. "I am aware of what occurred in the library. When I assumed my position here, I had the halls cleansed of any malignant presences. What remains we found were consecrated and buried."

Rain nodded, though Kivan could tell that she was not entirely satisfied. "It was not just the monks in the library," she said with a slight edge to her voice. "It was also the folk who lived in the outer bailey, who ran the keep. The inn-owner. The guards. The folk who worked the kitchens and stables."

The prelate seemed to sharpen a little, his eyes narrowing on her alertly. "Yes, yes," he agreed with a touch of impatience. "I am aware of that, too. Their loss will not be forgotten." He leaned back in his chair then, dismissing her concerns, and steepled his fingers before his lips. He regarded her speculatively. "What I want to know," he said, cutting to the chase, "is why you, Rain, would choose to turn down divine power, to remain a mortal when you could have ascended to the glorious ranks of the celestial." Aldith's canny eyes darted briefly to Kivan, and then back to Rain.

She gazed at the prelate just as directly, just as boldly. Her slender, ebony-clad body was perfectly still, perfectly primed. In that instant, she reminded Kivan of a sleek pantheress, ready to strike. If Aldith could not sense his sudden peril, then he was a fool.

"And is this the price of our entry to Candlekeep?" she asked in a silky, dangerous tone, each word a blade.

Behind her, Kivan tensed. His jet eyes were riveted on the head monk. He saw the instant that Aldith realised he had pushed Rain too far; he saw the moment the prelate's hazel eyes widened ever so slightly, surprised. Then Kivan understood.

In this duelling of wits, this contest of wills, Rain had already won. She had what she had come for; Aldith did not. The monk hungered for the knowledge that only Rain and Kivan could give him. It was a thirst in him, awakened by the arrival of Rain, daughter of Bhaal, at Candlekeep's gates, and Aldith wanted to slake his great thirst, to plunge headlong into it until he was thoroughly satiated.

Rain could walk away from this meeting and leave the library's new caretaker unfulfilled.

Aldith knew it.

He changed tact. "Forgive me," he said hastily, his tone impeccably courteous. "It was not my intention to insult you in any manner, Rain. I am doing what I do best: bartering for knowledge. I am sure you will understand my goals." He made a conscious effort to ease back into his chair, studiously ignoring the way Kivan's eyes were trained upon him so intently, tracking his every tiny move. "Truthfully, I am quite fascinated by you, Rain. It is not every day that a woman of your calibre turns up at my library."

She looked at him expressionlessly, unmoved. Kivan knew very well that any attempt on Aldith's part to appeal to her vanity would fail dismally.

The prelate tried again. "You crushed Jon Irenicus, the elven mage who imprisoned you."

Rain tilted her head a little, still so carefully poised. "Yes."

"And you are favoured by Queen Ellesime, ruler of Suldanessellar. You both are," he added, flitting his gaze to Kivan again.

"Yes," she said again, very simply.

Aldith stared at her, and then surprised them both by letting out a sharp bark of laughter. "Truly, are you always this short-tongued?" he asked, giving his head an ironic shake. "Trying to drag words out of you is like trying to pull splinters from my palm."

Kivan suppressed a sudden smile; his beloved was doing a good job of emulating _him_.

Rain must have sensed his wry amusement, for her own lips twitched into a smile. "If you want to read about my life," she said with her own irony, "then you should go and speak to Volo. I am sure he would be _very_ happy to provide you with a copy of his illustrious writings."

"Volo is not here," Aldith countered, though his eyes gleamed with sudden appreciative glee at her verbal sally. "_You_ are."

And just like that, the rigid tension in the room was broken. Something eased between the three of them. Their mutual wariness did not disappear entirely, and their wits were still honed, ready to dance, but they understood one another better now. Rain subtly relaxed in her chair, not so stiff, and Kivan reached out and settled his hand on her shoulder again, giving his silent support.

Aldith gazed at her keenly across the polished surface of his desk. "Let me be frank with you, Rain," he said. "I want to hear of what transpired in Tethyr. What truly occurred, and not what the rumour-mongers say. What led to your choices, to the chaotic culmination of the Bhaalspawn wars?" His eyes took on another hungry gleam. "Think of it as setting the record straight, once and for all. Within these four walls, I will listen, and I will not judge. What say you?"

Rain considered him a long moment. She gave nothing away, her expression smooth and serene, but Kivan knew she was weighing her options, trying to gauge what this might cost them; both her and him. He kept his hand on her leathers, sending her his reassurance through the Spirit.

_Do what you need to, love. I am here_.

She glanced up at him, and his eyes locked with hers. His mouth softened ever so slightly as they made their decision together.

"Very well," Rain said, turning back to Aldith. "You will have our account. But this may take a while," she warned.

"Of that I have no doubt." Pleased with her agreement, the man leaned forward in his chair again and reached for a full crystal decanter on his desk, eager and solicitous. "Wine?"

Rain nodded, accepting his courtesy gracefully, and Kivan finally relinquished his place at her back. Stretching his arms up easily to reach for his bow, he gave Rain a familiar, warm glance, content with the turn of things, and pulled Taralash over his head. His leather pack followed.

"I might as well make myself comfortable," he said to her with a hint of humour as he dropped down lightly into the other chair, pulling it up beside her, and Rain smiled back at him.

Aldith looked at them both attentively, ready to begin. "Start, Rain," he urged her, but then appeared to remember something. He turned his head to indicate the scribe, still watching them vigilantly from the corner. "Do you mind if we take a written account of your tale?"

Rain shook her head, her russet hair falling about her black leathers. "No, I do not mind."

The scribe lifted a parchment from the thick sheaf on his desk, smoothed it over his tablet, and then dipped the nib of his quill into an inkpot. He looked at Rain expectantly.

She began.


	3. Part III

Author's note: A short story, this time, and it closes the circle on Rain's return to Candlekeep. Thank you so much again to everyone reading and reviewing the story, and I hope you have enjoyed this little window into Kivan and Rain's future.

CANDLEKEEP – PART III

"_Stay with me_."

There were some words, some things that needed to be said, that were so important, so monumental, that the very world hung upon them.

For Kivan, they were the most important words of his life.

"_Stay with me. Don't go_."

He had never been good at long speeches or needless, unnecessary talk. In the stillness of a perfect silence, he could watch, listen. Assess. Learn the lie of the land and the creatures around him, or gauge the motives of the people he met, their true intentions. Such was his nature. For a very long time, more than sixteen years, his actions had spoken more loudly than words, and it had taken Rain to gently draw him out, to restore his faith in himself and his self-worth.

But at the Throne of Bhaal, with Rain on the cusp of making her final decision – whether to step up and claim her father's power, to claim her immortal destiny, or throw it all aside to remain with _him_ – Kivan found his hoarse, whispered words, his heartfelt plea for her to stay.

He had a clear, vivid memory of her: the moment that she had chosen his love, chosen him, and refused her ascension.

He was hunched over on the cold, otherworldly platform suspended in the vast, black depths of the abyssal realm, the plane's whirling, screaming forces hurtling about himself and Rain, battering his already-brutalised body. He had lost so much blood; it spilled, hot and scarlet, through his trembling fingers, from the slippery, bloodied hand that he had pressed to his broken ribs, beneath his ravaged scale armour. Were it not for Rain, steadying him with her arm around his lacerated shoulders, he would have collapsed to the blood-soaked stone. His awareness was already slipping from him in dizzy layers. His vision began to blur, darkening at the edges, and the strange, eerie green glow from the channelled Bhaalspawn essences filled his head, breaking over him in a sickening wave.

Kivan's heart lurched; he was weakening, and quickly. Doggedly, he shrugged off the death that was slinking up on him, and narrowed his focus to Rain, blinking past his misting vision to gaze at her worried, blood-smeared face where she knelt beside him.

She was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

With Amelyssan defeated, Rain was caught halfway between two worlds, straddling both the mortal and the divine. The starfire spilled from her, uncontained. Her skin was silver, glowing as brightly as it had when she had been a spirit in this realm, and her eyes – too wide, with a touch of wildness that Kivan had come to expect in the fey – were that hot, luminous gold, brimming with unknowable, unimaginable power. Her loose hair floated around them both in red streamers. She held him close, fierce and protective, and pushed a wad of scarlet-stained wool, torn from her own sleeve, to the gouged, mortal wound that began at his neck, ebbing out his life.

"Rain." He whispered her name through cracked, bleeding lips, tasting his own blood. She looked at him with her anxious golden eyes, and the silver warmth of her was so close, enveloping him with her starfire light. Though she heard him, and he could feel her tender, painful love through the elven Spirit between them, even in this dark place, she was also aware of something else, being courted by the racing, celestial energies that whipped around the plane. He could sense that clearly, even in his dazed, light-headed state.

"Beloved," he breathed, his voice growing fainter. It was an effort now to talk. His breaths were shorter, his chest laboured, and he could feel a coldness spreading through his abused limbs as his blood leaked crimson through the saturated cloth in her hand. She swallowed thickly, tears springing to her fearful, blazing eyes.

In a last show of strength, Kivan lifted his shaking hand from his ribs and laid his wet fingers against the sharp plane of her cheek, cupping Rain's beautiful, silver face with all the deep, aching love that he still had to give.

"Heart of my heart," he whispered, naming her. "Stay with me. Don't go. Remain mortal with me." He winced with the terrible agony burning in his raw, flayed skin, his raised arm trembling violently, but he did not waver, steadfastly pushing through the pain. Rain gripped him tighter, choking back a sharp, frantic sound. "I love you, Rain," he told her softly, his longing flowing to her, tender and full. "You are all that matters. I have nothing to give you, nothing but myself, but I will make you very happy, I _swear_ it." His weak fingers caressed her cheek, smearing the blood over her skin. "I have told you before that I keep my promises, beloved," he said to her, the truth of it resonating in his blood and bones, "and this promise I make to you, Rain: you will always be mine, and our future together will be bright."

His voice cracked; his words broke. His strength was nearly spent. Moving his faltering hand, he gently slipped his fingers into the russet cloud of her hair and pulled her closer to him, so that his bloodied, seeking lips rested against her iridescent, pointed chin.

"Just stay with me," he pleaded against her burning skin, his rasping words catching in his throat. "Say you will, my _Rosa_."

Rain dragged in an uneven breath. "_Kivan_," she whispered raggedly, her tears hot where they leaked down his gashed cheek and nose. She kissed his sticky brow, fiercely, and drew back from him, just enough to fix him with an intense, determined look, her eyes blazing a ferocious gold.

"You do not need to fear, my heart," she told him, her fingers clenching in his shoulder. She held that cloth so firmly to his vicious wound, stemming the flow of blood. "There is no choice for me but you. I have not come all this way to give you up now."

Swiftly, she turned her head, looking back to where the Solar stood over Amelyssan's crushed, broken body, crumpled at the very foot of the column of sparking, violent light that she had craved. It was Bhaal's essence. The power the Solar was offering Rain. Squinting, his head giddy with blood-loss and a heady, dizzy relief, Kivan tried to focus on the celestial being, his vision blurring on the Solar's snaking, golden locks, and her light-filled, proud eyes.

"I don't want it," Rain said heatedly, her voice sure and sharp. "I don't want my father's power. I never have. Take it, Solar, and free me of the taint." She clutched Kivan desperately to her, supporting his limp, slumping body, and made her final demand. "Save him," she said hoarsely, her own voice grinding on a shaky, halting note. "Save him," she whispered again, pleading. "_Please_. He is the love of my life; don't take him from me, I beg you." Her voice broke again, and Kivan murmured to her soothingly, closing his feeble, slick fingers over her own, feeling the tremor in her hand where she staunched his wound.

"Then let it be done."

The Solar's gentle, accepting voice was the last thing Kivan heard in that unnatural, immortal realm. His vision swam, and his sight faded to a deep, impenetrable black. He felt rather than heard Rain's sudden, tortured gasp, and she convulsed against him, arching her spine in utter, blind agony. Her pain slammed into him through the Spirit, overtaking his own. Instinctively, with the last of his will, he threw his arms around her and took her with him to the bloodied floor, rolling himself around her protectively as her father's dark taint was torn from her, leaching the scorching starfire from her divine soul.

There was a long, suspended pause.

A hot, molten hand touched his blood-matted hair, and he felt the whisper of the Solar's farewell in his stunned, wondering mind.

His dreadful wounds closed over; life rushed back in.

Rain was in his arms, and she was safe, alive.

She was _his_.

xxxx xxxx

There were some words that were for himself and Rain, only to be heard by the Solar, and their companions who had survived their final confrontation with Amelyssan. They were not for the prelate and his scribe. It was enough for Kivan that their tale ended with Rain choosing love, and that he was saved, and that both Rain and Imoen were now free of Bhaal's taint, carrying his dark seed no longer. If Aldith still could not understand why Rain had refused her destiny, still perplexed, then it didn't matter to Kivan. He knew Rain's heart, and he knew his own, and nothing more needed to be said. To Candlekeep's prelate, anyway.

Now, he looked long at Rain, standing with him at their small chamber's only window, his hand resting intimately on her warm, bare shoulder as she stared down at the tossing, restless sea, breaking against the cliffs. She had pushed the glass casement out wide and the night flooded in, drowning them both in the pure, white light of a waxing moon. Her skin was silver; as luminous as she had been in his memory of her at the Throne of Bhaal, but now iridescent with moonlight, not starfire. The wisp of cream silk that she wore glowed softly, giving off a faint, shimmering radiance. Her eyes were dark and deep. She stirred, coming back from her own recollections, and Kivan smiled at her fondly and pressed his bare chest into her back, shivering a little as her fall of soft hair slid across his skin.

He put the pad of his forefinger to the thin strap of satin that curled over Rain's shoulder, securing her silk slip. He traced it gently, exploring it.

"Was this what you needed?" he asked her softly, seeing the answering shift in her expression as she angled her head to look back at him. "The meeting with the prelate?"

Rain turned so that she could consider him properly. Lifting her slender, moonlit hands to his neck, she slid her fingers beneath his curls and cupped his nape, gazing at him thoughtfully. "Yes," she said, and she was very serious. "I didn't know it when we first arrived at the gates, but yes. I think it was the right thing to do, for both Imoen and myself, to set the record straight here, where we grew up. Perhaps some good will come of this. I have said my farewells, and I can leave here now with a lighter heart."

Kivan nodded, warm and satisfied with Rain's new sense of closure. Inhaling a long, deep breath, he wrapped his arms, very snugly, around her narrow waist, and pulled her suggestively to him, so that her hips were fitted neatly to his breeches. He looked into her shadowed, night eyes, deeply, and knew his own feelings were written clearly on his face, stark and open.

"Tomorrow," he whispered to her huskily, "we will leave here and go north, back to Baldur's Gate. We have unfinished business there," he added in a rich, low tone when Rain arched a curious brow at him.

"Oh?" she said, looking up at him. She twined her arms more closely around his neck. A warm, sensual light was kindling in her eyes; a look that Kivan knew very, very well. His mouth curved in a slow, languid smile.

"There is the matter of the ribbons I promised you," he reminded her, "and we are not quite done with the Elfsong." His smile widened; his eyes glinted with mischief.

Now he had her very intrigued. Rain stretched up onto her toes, brushing cool, slippery silk over the scarred breadth of his chest. "Is that so," she murmured, winding her arms tighter. She brought her warm, adventuring lips to his throat, beginning to follow the lines of his flowing tattoo with soft, whispery kisses.

"Mmpgh." He made a sound that was partly pleasure, partly strangled. He had started this game, but it was already becoming hard to think past the rapid pounding of his blood. "At the Elfsong, a certain someone once ordered me out of my cloak and boots." His voice was thick, and he had to swallow tightly before continuing. "I intend to return the favour."

Rain laughed softly, a delighted sound, and pulled back from him gently to look at him in the moonlight. Her smile was infectious and warm. "And if that certain someone is as stubborn as a particular ranger I know…?" she asked, deliberately letting her voice trail off expectantly, her brows raised in question.

Kivan grinned at her, already considering the possibilities. "Then I will just have to take them off _for_ her," he said with smoky, smug confidence, "and bend her to my will."

Her laughter was bright and amused, her sea-eyes sparkling. "I look forward to it," she promised him, beautifully, and gave him a lovely, inviting smile. Holding his eyes, never looking away, she slipped her arms from his neck and reached for the thong tying his single braid, pulling out both the berries and the leather knot. His heart thudded with anticipation. When her fingers were gently untangling his braid, sunk in his dark curls, Kivan lifted his hand to her silvered cheek and just looked at her, touched with soft wonder at how amazing she was, how she had given up immortality to stay with him.

"When we are done with the Gate," he murmured hoarsely, his voice catching in his throat from intense, powerful emotion, "we will go back to Suldanessellar, as you and I have talked of." His smile turned sweet and dreamy, his eyes dark and yearning where they held hers. "I will build you that cabin, Rain," he whispered, "the one in the forest. I will make it with my own hands, and it will be ours."

Rain smiled at him blissfully, her gaze turning misty in the moonlight. She stood there before him in her pale, glowing silk, her cheek cradled in his hand, and Kivan heard the quickness of her breath, saw the utter love in her eyes. He was complete, he was happy, and he saw their future unfolding clearly before him, filled with more joy than he had ever thought possible.

Kivan took her small, familiar hands in his own and smiled at her tenderly, squeezing her fingers gently between his. "Come to bed?" he asked her softly, giving her a fervent, hopeful look.

Rain stepped in close to him, her hands folded so intimately in his, and raised her mouth for his ardent, searching kiss.

"I thought you would never ask," she whispered against his lips, and her words were nearly lost in the sudden thick, fiery buzzing that filled his head. Swiftly, his blood roaring, Kivan tugged her out of the moonlight and into the shadows, and let the salty, wave-drenched night consume them both, the sea booming up from Candlekeep's cliffs.


End file.
